


When the lights go out and we open our eyes

by Yukichouji



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Coercion, Dub-con handjob, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FP is not coping well, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jughead Jones & Sweet Pea Friendship, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, M/M, Only If You Squint Really Hard, Protective Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Sad, Soft Sweet Pea (Riverdale), Stalking, Sweet Pea is a good friend, Threats of Violence, Tumblr Prompt, Violence, could be read as pre-slash, dealing with the aftermath, in a memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yukichouji/pseuds/Yukichouji
Summary: Now that things have gone back to a more normal, more familiar rhythm, his life feels almost ordinary again. Ordinary in the sense that the amount of troubles he’s left to deal with do not vastly outnumber the amount of troubles he’s used to having, at least. So it’s not that much of a surprise, that the complications heading his way hit him out of the blue and send him for a very unpleasant spin.ORA part of Jughead's past he'd really rather forget about entirely catches up with him just when he thinks things are starting to look up again. Shit gets out of hand really fucking quickly after that.
Relationships: Jughead Jones & Sweet Pea, Jughead Jones/OMC
Comments: 26
Kudos: 91





	When the lights go out and we open our eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for a prompt I got over on [my Tumblr](https://yukichouji.tumblr.com/) that read as follows:
> 
> _"But say when jug was homeless he'd have sex for money when he really needed it and he eventually tells Archie it happened who tells Fred and FP finds out and the two dad's try to talk to him about it coz they're worried but jug freaks out and is scared and embarrassed so he crashes with Sweet Pea or someone else to hide from them and kinda breaks down about it."_
> 
> This is my attempt at a fill, though it kind of got away from me a little, which you could probably tell looking at the word count... I, sadly, did not manage to fit any actual Fred into this, I'm sorry, but this thing was already turning out to be too damn long and, if I'm going to do Fred, it's not going to be rushed. He deserves better than that.
> 
> I should probably note that the "underaged prostitution" tag concerns a dub-con handjob and it's dealt with as a memory but Jughead talks about it and the way it made him feel and the fall-out of it is dealt with in a lot of detail, so be warned in case that's something you might have trouble with. Please stay safe <3
> 
> The title is from the song [I'll Be Gone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NyylWWMVeY) by Linkin Park.
> 
> Now, enough from me. Enjoy <3

~* ~*~

It starts a week or so after Southside High has been closed down and Jughead and the Serpents have been transferred to Riverdale High. Just after the worst of the upheaval has quieted down and they’re at least allowed to wear their own clothes again instead of those ridiculous uniforms, if not their Serpent jackets. Plus they have the Serpents & Swords club now, if nothing else. A space marked for themselves, as their own, a safe place to exist and continue holding true to their values without being under constant attack. The best thing Jughead was able to come up with for them for the time being. It’s funny how responsible he feels for the teen Serpents now, when at first he didn’t want to have anything to with them at all, he thinks quietly to himself sometimes, when he has a moment to breathe and contemplate.

Now that things have gone back to a more normal, more familiar rhythm, his life feels almost ordinary again. Ordinary in the sense that the amount of troubles he’s left to deal with do not vastly outnumber the amount of troubles he’s used to having, at least. So it’s not that much of a surprise, that the complications heading his way hit him out of the blue and send him for a very unpleasant spin.

He’s walking home from school with Archie, because they share part of the route and it’s a nice way to do some catching up. To chat and joke around and mend a couple of those severed ties that cutting had hurt so badly. Jughead could take his dad’s bike to school, and he does sometimes, but mostly, he only uses it, if he has to, because putting gas in the tank is expensive and for the vast majority of the time he counts himself lucky, if their money last long enough to keep food in the fridge for the course of the month. Not to mention that his dad needs the bike to get to work most days. Jughead’s still got that deal going with Pop, that tab of his that Pop opened for him, when he was penniless and hungry all the damn time, and then just never mentioned again.

He’s going to pay it back some day, Jughead’s sworn himself that much, his pride won’t let him have it any other way, and he only uses it, if he absolutely has to. But it’s there, if he needs it and that, at least, gives him some peace of mind, when the going gets a little too rough. Archie and him round a corner, leaving the fenced in football field behind and there it is. A silver Sedan. Family car, expensive. Very white collar. Shiny and well kept and not at all out of place around a high school on the Northside.

It just so happens that that particular make and model stir at some memories Jughead would really rather not touch ever again and he should have just let his gaze slip past, let his attention wander back to Archie and the joke he’s trying and failing to reiterate, let it all be over and forgotten the way he wants it to be. But for some reason his eyes get stuck on the vehicle stopped at a red light at the intersection as they walk past the driver’s side. Kind of like in a movie, when the scene is calling for some kind of dramatic effect and everything slows down for a moment and the noises all around dampen and the whole world narrows down to that other person across from the main actor. Jughead and the driver making eye contact and holding it for a startled second, before the light turns green and the car starts up again, that flash of recognition on the driver’s face burnt into Jughead’s retinas like a photo negative.

Jughead halts his step and turns to watch the car drive off slowly, his eyes wide and breathing too quickly. A strange sort of numbness wrapping around him like a blanket. Archie says his name, once, then again, until Jughead finally hears him and he’s snapped out of his stupor, the world and all of its sound rushing back in and leaving his ears ringing.

“Are you OK, man? You look like you just saw a ghost. Did you know that guy or something?” Archie asks him, his brows furrowed and worry written all over his too expressive features.

Jughead shakes himself, a shudder running through him as he tries to get a grip and get rid of that feeling that’s clenching around his insides like a cold fist. He shrugs and tries for nonchalant, turning and starting to walk again, not looking at Archie, when he answers. “Nah. I thought I did, but I was wrong. Don’t worry about it. What were you saying again? Something about Reggie and a very ill-timed attempt at the ice bucket challenge?”

“Oh, yeah!” Archie exclaims, excitement replacing his worry as he enthusiastically launches back into his elaborations. Jughead gives him a crooked smile and shakes his head a little in wonderment. To be that careless, Jughead thinks, a heaviness settling over him, a bitter sadness he doesn’t want, but cannot shake. It was nothing, Jughead tells himself. Nothing at all. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

And that should have been the end of it, really. But it’s not. Because when was Jughead ever that lucky?

~*~*~

Jughead keeps seeing the Sedan around. More and more often, like it’s following him, or something, a panicky little part of him notes. Like a fucking ghost form his past come back to haunt him, only so much worse, because it’s _real_. Initially, he tries to tell himself that he’s seeing things, that he’s just being paranoid and projecting, but after a week or so, not even his own denial is strong enough to let him pretend that it’s not happening.

On Wednesday he spots the car at Riverdale High after school is out and it follows him all the way home to Sunnyside, in a weird snail’s pace, at a distance, but still unmistakable. It doesn’t relent until Jughead enters the lot of the trailer park, then it rolls past slowly, it’s driver staring after him as he hurries over to his dad’s trailer. Eager to get away, his skin crawling and his stomach pulled so tight it hurts.

His dad is home and he gives Jughead a weird look, when he stumbles into the trailer, not quite able to hide how rattled he is. But Jughead brushes it off and mumbles something about homework before he flops down at the dinner table and pulls his laptop out of his school bag. Hiding behind that screen and blending out the rest of the world is something he’s good at. It’s something he’s had plenty of practice at.

On Thursday, ‘Hey, my name is David’ finally works up the courage to talk to him. Jughead is on the sidewalk in front of the school, waiting for Archie to be done with practice so that they can walk together for part of the way at least. Because, when Jughead’s not alone, the car keeps more of a distance, sometimes even takes a turn and disappears entirely and he’s really counting on that. He’s been jumpy and withdrawn all week, his nerves stretched thin and tension running high in his shoulders and he thinks people are starting to pick up on it.

Even oblivious, carefree Archie, though he hasn’t really connected any of the dots yet and Jughead doesn’t think he will any time soon either, unless something goes very wrong. And Jughead could really use the break right now that having company grants him. But then he sees the silver Sedan cruising buy slowly, with Archie no-where in sight yet and Jughead freezes up as the driver’s eyes lock with his for a moment.

He should get moving, head back into the school, where he can’t be followed, should have been smart enough to just wait inside in the first place instead of opting to grab some fresh air and get away from the feeling too many curious eyes following him around. But his legs won’t listen, they just stay still, as if glued to the ground as the Sedan rolls past, then makes a careful u-turn a bit further down the street and comes back.

The car comes to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk, right where Jughead is standing, the window on the driver’s side rolling down slowly. A middle-aged guy in a nice suit props his elbow out and gazes over at Jughead with a too friendly expression on his face. Tall, muscly, kiddy seat in the back. Familiar in a way that makes Jughead’s stomach churn and his shoulders pull painfully tight as he stares back at the guy, at ‘David’. Because he’s not going to forget that name any time soon. If ever. Regardless of how much he wants to.

“Hey, kid.” David says, bright and inviting, but Jughead can see the sinister underneath, the motive, the drive behind his words like poison weaving through them and he balls his hands into tightly furled fists at his sides to stop them from shaking. Jughead fell for that once, he’s sure as Hell not going to be stupid enough to do it again. “Need a ride somewhere?”

Jughead searches for his usual bravado, his mouthy, sarcastic self that’d have no trouble telling David to fuck off and never show his ugly mug around here again, but he can’t find it. It’s like that part of himself has just evaporated and all that’s left of him is the scared kid from back then, from where this all went wrong. “No. I’m waiting for a friend.” Jughead manages, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. He should really get out of here, get away, but it’s like he’s forgotten how to make his body listen to him.

“Come on.” David pushes, some of the faux friendliness falling away, the ugliness underneath becoming more pronounced, more stark and it doesn’t look like he’s going to let himself be deterred that easily. His gaze darts up and down the empty sidewalk, as if to make sure the coast is still clear. “I’ll take you wherever you wanna go. You can meet your friend later. You remember me, right?”

Jughead wants to scoff at that, but the sound gets stuck somewhere in his throat and he has to be careful not to choke on it. Because how the fuck would he ever be able to _not_ remember? No matter how badly he wishes he could just wipe it all clean and forget every last part of it. The cold rain outside, the starless night sky a black void overhead, the neon lights reflected as distorted ghosts in the puddles on the bumpy asphalt. The wet and the chill that sat heavy in his bones and the hunger making him feel lighter than he was, almost like floating. A seemingly friendly face and the promise of warmth, of food. Of even a semblance of safety. Too tired and worn out, too close to the end of his rope to be properly suspicious.

Those soft-spoken words, like moths flapping their fragile wings in the heater-thick air of the inside of the car, making it feel cottony and dream-like. “Come on. I’ll pay you, take you out to get food after. It’s no big deal. Don’t you ever touch yourself? It’s just like that. Nothing to be scared of.” The numbness, the defeat, the quiet desparation. All of it a blur. A water stain on the fabric of his soul. The incessant drumming of the rain as it hits the roof of the car and the inside of it an isolated piece of time and space that exists apart form everything else.

Jughead remembers every fragment of it. David’s low, panting breath’s, the feel of him in Jughead’s cold and shaky fingers with David’s hand wrapped too tightly around his own, the smell of sex filling up the heater-air of the car’s inside space. But most of all the shame and the disgust aimed at himself during and after. No way to escape either of those things.

Jughead opens his mouth to say something, though what exactly he’s not even sure himself, but David’s eyes dart to the school building and he freezes up suddenly, then starts moving really quickly. His elbow disappears back into the car and he’s pulling away from the sidewalk before the window has even closed completely, tires skidding across the tarmac.

“Hey, sorry, coach kept us longer for a team meeting after practice.” Archie jogs up to Jughead, his hair still wet from the shower and his cheeks reddened from the exertion. “I hope you didn’t –“ Archie stops short the moment he really looks at Jughead, the easy, carefree expression falling away from his face so quickly it makes Jughead feel a little dizzy and his stomach clenches painfully. “Is everything alright? Who was that guy in the car just now?”

“Nobody. I’m fine.” Jughead blurts out too quickly, his voice too high, and he curses himself for it right after. For the way Archie’s frown deepens and suspicion blooms in his dark eyes as he looks over his shoulder to where the silver Sedan is disappearing around a corner and then back to Jughead.

“You know you can talk to me, if something’s up, right? Was that guy bothering you?” Archie tries again and Jughead can already tell by the all too familiar look on his face that Archie’s not just going to let this go. Jughead has always been shit at lying to Archie, at least when Archie’s really paying attention to him, and he knows he’s going to have to give Archie something to make him back off, at least for now. Because Archie may be kind of a flake most of the time, but once he’s really set his mind to something it’ll take a natural catastrophe or something equally as drastic to make him back off again. Jughead wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs and chews on his lip as he desperately tries to think of something, anything.

“I –“ Jughead starts, then clears his throat and tries again. “Just someone from back when I used to, uhm, when I was homeless for a couple of months. He got the wrong impression on something, I think. I just need to, uh, I just need to make sure he understands that and things will be fine.” Jughead fumbles with the words in a way that’s so very uncharacteristic for him and he flinches, when Archie’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. Great, way to fuck that up, too, Jughead thinks a little frantically as he makes himself meet Archie’s worried gaze.

“Let’s just get out of here!” Jughead says, sounding a little too desperate, but Archie finally folds, drops his hand away form Jughead’s shoulder and nods. Though he very much doesn’t look happy. And Jughead knows that it isn’t over and done with for Archie, not yet, because Archie is like a fucking dog with a bone once he’s set his mind to something and he’s not going to let it go until he feels he’s gotten what he wants.

“What do you mean ‘he got the wrong impression’?” Archie pushes, predictably, as he falls into step beside Jughead. They have about ten/fifteen minutes of a shared walk until their paths split, maybe less, if Jughead hurries things along a little, he thinks, the words rattling around in his head like a bucket full of marbles. Loud and unhappy.

Jughead feels so ashamed about what happened, for how stupid and how weak he was to let it get to that in the first place, _pathetic_ , and he doesn’t want Archie to know about any of it. Doesn’t think he could take the way Archie would look at him, if he knew what Jughead had done for a tenner and a burger and shake combo at Pop’s. Jughead takes a deep breath and desperately tries to keep down the rising nausea.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Archie says, his voice turning softer, quiet and low with worry and Jughead fucking _hates_ the way it makes him feel guilty on top of everything else. “I know I haven’t been the best of friends lately, but we’re good now, right? I’m here for you, man.”

Jughead _tries_ not to look at Archie, he really, really does, but it’s a battle he can’t win, always has been, and as soon as he does, he knows he’s lost. There’s no way he can _not_ let that look on Archie’s face get to him and break him down into tiny little pieces like the useless idiot that he is. It’s almost scary, this hold Archie has on him, this thing that Jughead just can’t fight. He pulls a grimace and groans, one of his hands washing over his face as his stomach pulls tight and then the words just sort of flood out of him, bitter and acidic like a slew of vomit.

“I – I don’t know, alright?! He talked me into giving him a handjob in his car one time and he bought me dinner, after, OK? And now he just showed up out of the blue and he’s been following me around and I don’t know how to make him stop. But I’ll figure it out. It’s nothing! I’ll deal with it! Just, _please_ , stop asking about it, alright?”

“What?” Archie halts in his step, staring at Jughead as if Jughead just grew a second head or something, shell shocked. And Jughead _knows_ that he just fucked up really badly. He can’t believe he let himself be goaded into being that fucking stupid. Again. This always happens with Archie and Jughead hates it so much.

“Just, forget about it! I have to go.” They’re almost at the fork in the road where Jughead will have to go left and Archie right to get home and Jughead shoves his hands into the pockets of his Sherpa jacket and speeds up his pace. Not quite running, but really fucking close.

“Hey! Jughead! Wait!” Archie calls after him, but when Jughead glances back over his shoulder Archie isn’t trying to follow him, he’s just standing there like a deer caught in the headlights, staring after Jughead with wide eyes. Jughead grinds his teeth until they hurt and speeds up until he actually is full out running. He doesn’t turn around again and he doesn’t stop until his lungs are burning so badly it feels like they’re on fire and he can see the sign for the trailer park rise up in front of him.

His heart is racing wildly in his chest and he’s not even sure, if it’s because of the running or not. He just needs to get home. Archie is a great guy, but he’s also all over the place and kind of a flake. With any luck Archie will have forgotten about their conversation by the time he gets home and gets distracted with something else. It’s no big deal at all. At least that’s what Jughead tries to tell himself. And he really doesn’t want to think about the alternative, about what stupid bullshit plan Archie could come up with to try and ‘help’ him. He wishes he could have just kept his fucking mouth shut.

Jughead’s dad isn’t going to be home for a couple of hours, yet, his shift at Pop’s a late on today, so Jughead hurries through his homework and then busies himself with the best thing he has to keep his mind occupied, to keep himself from thinking about the whole thing most effectively. Writing. And it works, Jughead knew it would, the method is tried and true and he’s spent more time than he can recount practicing it. His finest form of escapism. Of filtering the world through a lens that allows him to take a step back from everything, remove himself from the equation and thereby remove emotions attached to situations, make himself untouchable in a way.

He can almost even convince himself, that his still elevated pulse and his slightly unsteady hands are entirely due to the continuous intake of caffeine as he works, a habit he picked up young and has been sticking to more and more reverently ever since. A good way to keep himself on his feet when he hasn’t slept for days, when another night comes where he knows he won’t be able to get any rest, for whatever reason. Jughead hardly even notices when the sun sets and it gets dark outside, the quality of the light changing continuously until all the illumination left in the trailer is coming from his laptop screen because he didn’t bother getting up to turn on the overhead lamp.

The motor of his dad’s bike rumbling outside as his dad pulls up to the trailer finally tears Jughead out of his zone, tough, somewhat shattering his concentration and bringing back the nervous ball of unease that’s been sitting in his stomach for much too long. There’s no need to worry, Jughead tries to tell himself to ease his jitteriness a little. His dad doesn’t know and if Jughead has any say in it at all, he’ll never find out about any of it either. It’s just a regular day, nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever.

His dad trudges up the steps outside and the front door opens as he walks into the trailer in his white Pop’s uniform, his eyes narrowing a little as he takes in Jughead sitting at the dining table in front of his laptop. “What are you doing sitting in the dark like this, boy? Gonna ruin your damn eyes.” His dad grumbles, voice gravely and tired as he reaches for the switch and flicks on the overhead light.

Jughead squints and blinks into the sudden brightness, one of his hands coming up to rub at tired eyes. “I don’t know. I guess I just got caught up writing.” Jughead shrugs and glances over at his dad, his lip caught between his teeth as he worries at it restlessly. His fingers itch to keep typing, his mind eager to delve back in and block out the rest of the world for a little while longer. But, apparently, that’s not happening, at least not right now.

“Well, pack up, cause I brought us dinner and I’m starving.” His dad says, brandishing a bag of take-out with Pop’s logo printed brightly onto its sides. Predictably, Jughead’s stomach starts to complain loudly at the mentions of food and the pull of Pop’s, the scent that slowly starts to waft through the small space of the trailer, is enough to make him forget about his other form of escapism for the moment.

He closes his laptop and tucks it back into his school bag to make room on the table and his dad sets down the take-out bag in front of him. Diligently, Jughead opens it and starts to unpack and divide up its contents, while his dad shrugs out of his leather jacket with the Serpent emblem on the back and drapes it over a hook at the door. Jughead’s still not sure how he feels about it, seeing his dad wear that jacket again, but that’s a whole nother can of worms he doesn’t feel like opening right now. Jughead is in the process of getting up to grab plates and glasses, when his dad’s cell rings.

Jughead flinches at the sudden noise, but his dad is too occupied with checking who it is to notice. Frowning at the screen, his dad takes the call and moves the phone up to his ear. “Fred.” His dad says roughly, his brows furrowed as he motions for Jughead to go ahead with his food and trudges over to the living room, sinking onto one of the couches with a grunt.

Something inside of Jughead freezes up at the name, a cold fist clenching around his insides painfully, a sinking feeling deep in his gut. Mr. A is calling his dad. It’s not completely out of the ordinary, Jughead thinks frantically, Mr. A does call, sometimes. Though not very often and the timing is just a little too off to be entirely coincidental. He could be wrong, Jughead tries to tell himself in order to make his hands stop shaking, his eyes glued to his dad as his dad sits there and listens to Mr. A talk on the other end of the line. The frown on his face deepening in increments.

Then his eyes widen suddenly, a look of incredulity pulling at his worn features and his gaze darts over to where Jughead is standing by the dinner table. And just like that, Jughead _knows_. Archie, _that fucking traitor_ , told his dad, who just told Jughead’s dad. Panic rushes in so quickly it makes Jughead’s head spin and the next thing he knows he’s moving, grabbing his school bag, the keys to his dad’s motorcycle from the kitchen table, shoving his feet into his boots, not even bothering to tie them before he’s running for the door.

He can hear his dad call his name through the frantic mess of racing thoughts in his head, hear his dad’s footsteps come after him and Jughead moves faster still, bounds down the front stairs until he reaches his dad’s bike. He doesn’t even bother with the helmet, just knocks it to the ground, where it clatters loudly in the gravel. Straddles the bike, his heart racing and his fingers clumsy as he yanks his beanie off of his head, stuffs it into one of his pockets and jams the key into the ignition. The bike purrs to life underneath him and, tires screeching, Jughead pulls away just as his dad reaches the bottom of the stairs, calling after him as Jughead pulls out of the trailer park.

The night air tousles his hair wildly as he races along the road, drags cold fingers over his strangely heated face, his bare arms and Jughead can’t stop breathing too quickly, can’t shake the panic that has his chest locked in an iron grip, head spinning.

The first safe place to run to he can think of is also the one he discards the quickest. Because Pop’s is way too obvious, that’s where his dad will look for him first. The library is out of question, too, because while Jughead may know how to get out undetected after hours, getting in after hours takes a little more planing than he can offer now.

Then another thought plops into his head and his grip tightens on the handlebars of the bike as he takes the next right and heads down the road that leads out of town.

In his panicky rush, Jughead neither sees Sweet Pea standing by his own trailer staring after him confusedly as Jughead races off on his dad’s bike, nor the silver Sedan, that pulls onto the road seemingly out of nowhere just a couple of seconds later.

~*~*~

Sweet water swimming hole is the perfect place to hide out at. There’s a small overpass leading up to it, so that there’s cover if needed and it’s a good place to stash the bike out of sight. It’s far enough out of town that you’d need a vehicle of some sort to reach it and that means none of the homeless ever really venture that far and it stays secluded most of the time. It used to be Archie, Betty and his secret spot to hang out at during the summer when they were kids. Not a lot of people know about it in the first place and even for those few that do know it, it’s still too cold to have coming here to swim make much sense.

After Jughead’s parked the bike and gotten off of it clumsily, limbs stiff and ungainly, he finds a place to sit up against the wall of the deserted overpass and fishes his beanie back out of his pocket. Pulls it over his wind tousled hair until it covers his ears all the way, then pulls up his legs and presses his face against his knees, hands covering his head as he tries to get his breathing back under control.

So maybe running wasn’t exactly the smartest option here, he thinks, as his thoughts chase each other around in frantic little circles in his head, but what else was he supposed to do? Stay and face his dad’s mortification, his disappointment? His disgust? How is someone supposed to react to finding out that his son whored himself out for a tenner and some food while he was homeless by choice? Jughead just – he can’t bear facing his dad. Not after this. He feels so ashamed. Like there’s some kind of invisible stain clinging to his skin. Some kind of taint he can’t get rid of and if he sticks around other people for too long it’s just going to end up rubbing off on them somehow.

He knows how fucking stupid he was for letting himself get coaxed into doing something as disgusting as that. And he hates himself for having been that weak, viciously so. But there’s nothing he can do about it now. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Jughead can’t go back home, that much is for sure. And the last time he tried his mom that didn’t go over all too well, either, so yeah. He could just – grab his things, hob back onto his dad’s bike and hit the road until the gas runs out. Try to make a life wherever he ends up getting stranded.

He’d almost done it once, had almost taken that bus out to California all those months ago. And so what, if he’d be leaving everything he’s known his entire life behind? All of the people that ever meant anything to him. Archie, Betty, the Serpents, his dad. Jughead squeezes his eyes shut and wipes at them angrily, smearing the wetness there across his cheeks messily. Sure, it sucks, but getting away from this God forsaken town and the mess of awful memories he wishes he didn’t have might not be the worst thing to ever happen to him. This damn place where betrayal is just a regular part of everyday life for some people.

Jughead startles, when he hears a car slowly roll across the overpass overhead. There’s not supposed to be anyone else out here, Jughead thinks, freezing up where he sits. Holding his breath he waits and listens, hears the tires crunch on the path that follows after the overpass, then come to a halt all together. The creak-thudd of a car door being pulled open and then falling shut again. Jughead scrambles to his feat, heart racing in his chest, when he hears footsteps coming down towards him.

There’s only one way in and out, the only thing at the other side of the small tunnel underneath the overpass being the swimming hole, so there’s nowhere for Jughead to run to. All he can do is stand and face whoever managed to find him this fucking quickly. It could be Mr. A and Archie, Jughead thinks, head spinning with possibilities and his hands ball into fists at his sides. If it really is them, he thinks he might just punch Archie in the face or something, his teeth clenched so hard his jaw muscles ache.

But it’s only one person that rounds the corner and steps under the overpass with him, too dark for Jughead to see properly. He frowns into the shadows and holds his breath until the tall figure steps into the pool of moonlight reflected off of the water in the swimming hole and Jughead sucks in a sharp breath as realization hits him. ‘David’, looking at Jughead with an intensity that has his skin crawling and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle upright. No, no, no, this can’t be fucking happening, Jughead thinks, his hands shaking at his sides as he tries to unfreeze himself, make himself move, do something, anything.

But he just ends up standing there like an idiot as David wanders nearer, calm and collected like he’s got all the time in the fucking world and he doesn’t stop until he’s standing too close, until there’s nothing but the wall of the tunnel at Jughead’s back and David, tall and solid at his front. Until Jughead hast to tilt his head up to meet David’s unsettling gaze, the smell of David’s aftershave, expensive but just on the wrong side of too much, crawling up Jughead’s nose and clogging up his lungs. Familiar in a nauseating kind of way.

“I thought I’d never get you alone.” David says, low and with a barely concealed threat woven through his overly friendly tone. His hands coming up to rest on the wall behind Jughead on either side of Jughead’s shoulders, caging him in, making him feel like a trapped animal, his lungs straining to pull in air that doesn’t seem to be coming. Purposefully highlighting the difference in size, the way Jughead, the teenager that he is, doesn’t even come close to David’s height or bulk and Jughead’s mouth goes dry until his tongue feels like it’s glued to his gums. “We really need to talk, you and me.”

“You didn’t tell your friend earlier anything about me, did you? The one with the red hair and the smile and all of those freckles?” David goes on, his fingers tightening casually against the wall and everything inside of Jughead clams up at the mentions of Archie. “Because that could get _all_ of us in a lot of trouble. You know that right?”

“Yes – I mean, no! I didn’t say anything!” Jughead presses out, his voice rough and his tongue uncooperative and he sends a quick prayer to whoever’s listening that David will believe him. Because this is bad, this is really fucking bad and there’s no way in Hell he can let Archie get pulled into this as well, no matter how Archie just fucked him over by telling his dad about the whole thing. There’s nothing Archie could do that would ever make Jughead want him to get hurt for real, least of all like this.

Jughead really needs to get the Hell out of here, he thinks, mind racing as David’s hand closes painfully tight around his biceps and he leans in even closer, his minty breath gusting hotly across Jughead’s face as he speaks, making Jughead feel vaguely ill. “Why don’t we get out of here, huh? To somewhere a little more comfortable? Maybe a nice motel room a couple miles out of town? We can discus the rest there. I’ll pay you, of course. Like I did last time. I’m not unreasonable, after all.”

Jughead’s stomach slithering with panic, Jughead bursts into action before his brain has time to catch up with him, the need to get the Hell away from David tumbling over into unbearable, and he jerks his knee up and catches David right where it hurts. David gives a pained yelp, the air rushing out of his lungs with the force of the blow, and he lets go of Jughead, bending over with his hands coming down to cup his junk. Jughead uses the opening and shoves past him, stumbles over to his motorcycle, his movements clumsy and his heart fluttering wildly in his chest.

He almost makes it, too. Almost. Just as he’s about to swing his leg over the bike, a hand grabs the neckline of his t-shirt and yanks him backwards. Jughead’s feet slip on the concrete and then he loses his balance completely, hitting the hard ground with a dull thud, pain shooting through his left elbow and the back of his skull in a way that has him seeing stars. And the next thing he knows David is on him, straddling Jughead’s hips as he pulls back his arm, hand balled into a tight fist.

“I was trying to be fucking nice, you little piece of trailer trash.” David all but snarls at him and Jughead throws his hands up to shield his face as David’s fist crashes down, but he’s not quick enough. David catches him square in the mouth, heat blooming in his lower lip as his teeth cut into it, his head bouncing back against the concrete and leaving him dazed. Something slick and sticky starts to trickle hotly down his chin, the taste of copper exploding across his tongue and making his stomach cramp with a fresh wave of nausea.

The world is still spinning dangerously when David gets off of him and roughly pulls Jughead to his feet by his arms. He drags Jughead along towards where his car is parked just off of the side of the road after the overpass. Jughead yanks at David’s grip on his biceps, digs in his feet and throws his weight into the motion, but David’s fingers just tighten until it really fucking hurts and all Jughead can do is stumble along like an idiot.

The taste of copper is heavy and cloying in Jughead’s mouth and his pulse is racing in his ears like static. Just as they reach the car and David starts to pull open the passenger door, the sound of a motorcycle engine rumbling in the distance but getting closer quickly pulls both of them to a sudden stop, their heads snapping around towards the overpass. Headlights cut through the night as the bike approaches at a breakneck speed.

Jughead can hear David curse harshly under his breath and then he redoubles his efforts to manhandle Jughead into the car. Jughead slaps his hands against the door frame and locks his elbows, his left one throbbing furiously, his lower lip hot and sticky, and he uses his grip on the car to put more force behind the motion when he kicks at David’s shin. David yelps and stumbles a step back, finally letting go at Jughead at the same time as the bike races across the overpass and then skids to a slithering halt behind the parked Sedan, both Jughead and David caught in the bright beam of its headlight, momentarily blinded.

Eyes stinging Jughead can just so make out a tall figure clamoring to get off of the bike, motor still running, reaching up to unclasp a helmet, yank it off and toss it to the side carelessly as the figure cuts through the beam of light and rushes towards them. “What the fuck?” Sweet Pea’s voice booms across the space between them, Sweet Pea’s face contorted with a silent kind of fury that has Jughead’s throat close up and his breathing stutter as Sweet Pea catches his eyes. And then David is yanked away, his feet slipping on the gravel and his back hitting the side of his car harshly, Sweet Pea’s hands fisted into the front of his crisp white shirt.

Eyes wide, David’s mouth falls open, as if he’s going to say something, but Sweet Pea doesn’t wait for him to speak. Just pulls back his fist and punches David in the face, catching his cheekbone and splitting the skin with his knuckles. Then again, and again, until there’s blood everywhere and David is yelling at him to stop and Jughead doesn’t think he’s ever seen Sweet Pea look this fucking furious. Which is saying a lot, because ‘angry’ seems to be Sweet Pea’s default state.

It’s honestly horrifying and Jughead realizes with a start that Sweet Pea is going to kill David, if Jughead doesn’t do something to stop him. “Sweet Pea!” Jughead bursts out, his heart racing as he unfreezes himself and grabs Sweet Pea’s arm before he can rain down another blow. Sweet Pea jerks him around for a moment, caught up in the momentum of his motion, before he realizes what’s going on and halts his movement, his eyes finally leaving David’s bloody mess of a face and darting over to Jughead.

They’re both breathing way too hard, just kind of standing there staring at each other, Jughead’s eyes huge and Sweet Pea’s knuckles split open, his fingers coated in crimson, the same color smudged all around Jughead’s mouth from the cut in his lip. David’s weak groans hanging in the over-bright air between them like faded Christmas lights. Sweet Pea looks almost shocked for a moment, but then he catches himself and his eyes turn hard again.

“Do you have your phone?” Sweet Pea bites out and Jughead just barely manages not to flinch at the tone of his voice.

“I – yeah. In my bag.” Jughead blurts out and gestures towards the underpass where his dad’s bike is still parked, his brain slow to catch up with what Sweet Pea wants from him.

“Then get it! The camera in mine is broken.” Sweet Pea bites out, his grip on David tightening as the guy begins to slip a little, head lolling precariously. Jughead does flinch then, but he scrambles into motion anyway, jogging down to the tunnel and scanning the ground until he spots his bag. His fingers clumsy as he yanks it open and rummages around in it until he finds his cell. With it clutched tightly in his hand Jughead makes his way back up to where Sweet Pea is still holding David pinned firmly against the car.

Once Sweet Pea sees Jughead, Sweet Pea jerks his chin towards the front of the car. “Take a picture of the license plate and then see, if he has his papers in the car. Find them and take pictures of those, too.” David makes a weak noise of protest at that, his hands pushing at Sweet Pea ineffectually and Sweet Pea turns his head to bark at him. “Shut the fuck up!”

Right, Jughead thinks, still a bit dazed, still not entirely sure he’s not just dreaming this whole fucking mess and he’ll wake on the couch in his dad’s trailer, confused and with a horrible crick in his neck any minute now. But he does as Sweet Pea says anyway, hurries around to the front of the car so that he can get a shot of the license plate. It takes him three tries until he gets something usable, because his hands keep shaking and the pictures turn out blurred, but once he’s got it, he rushes back to Sweet Pea’s side of the car and crawls into the passenger seat through the open door.

He flicks on the overhead light and the glove box pops open without any trouble at all. And there it is, insurance and registration, just where any good, upstanding citizen would keep them, Jughead thinks with a biting sort of sarcasm that has acid creeping up the back of his throat. He pulls the papers out, unfolds them with clumsy fingers and takes pictures of them, too, then pockets his phone and puts it all back where he found it, eager to get the Hell out of that damn car again as quickly as possible. Because its inside feels too fucking small and it smells just the same as it had on that cold and rainy night not even a year ago and Jughead can feel that same shame-fueled nausea rise up thickly.

He pulls in a deep breath once he’s outside again, tasting cool night air and blood on his tongue as his lungs fill up. “Get a full name and an address?” Sweet Pea asks him, his voice rough and still so fucking angry, and Jughead just nods at him, his fingers wrapped tightly around the phone in his jeans pocket.

“Hear that?” Sweet Pea growls turning back to David, who’s given up his fight and opted for hanging limply in Sweet Pea’s harsh grip. “Yeah.” David croaks out weakly, his speech slightly slurred and Jughead thinks numbly that he might have a concussion.

“Good.” Sweet Pea presses out through clenched teeth, getting so close to David’s face their noses almost touch even though David does his best to shrink back form him. “If I ever see you near Jughead again, you’ll have an entire gang of really fucking pissed off bikers pay you a little visit and I can guarantee it won’t go over as lightly as this did. You picked the wrong kid to hassle, asshole. In fact, if I ever see you near _any_ kid at all, me and my buddies are going pull your teeth out one at a time with a set of rusty pliers before castrating you with them.”

“Now get the Hell out of here, before I change my mind and end your miserable life, after all.” With that, Sweet Pea shoves David towards the front of the car. David stumbles but catches himself and then scrambles into the Sedan through the passenger side, pulling the door closed behind him hard enough to rattle the entire frame before he awkwardly climbs over the gearshift into the drivers seat. The car’s engine roars to life and David peals back onto the road fast enough to make the tires screech on the asphalt, taillights blinding them both before they start to fade as the car races off into the night.

Sweet Pea blows out a shaky breath and runs his bloody hand across his face, then shakes himself and slowly walks over to his bike to finally turn the engine off. Effectively plunging Jughead and him into darkness and silence both, until all Jughead can hear is both of their heavy breathing.

“How did you – how did you even know where to find me?” Jughead blurts out the first thing that pops into his head, feeling dizzy and strangely numb with the aftermath of what just happened, still trying and failing to process it all. A little like shock, a part of him thinks vaguely, but the thought slips away again quickly enough.

Sweet Pea bends down to pick up his helmet, where he’d dropped it, then walks over until he’s standing next to Jughead, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the state of Jughead’s face in the barely there glow of the moon that breaks through the trees in pale little splotches. Sweet Pea gives a one-shouldered shrug, his hand coming up to Jughead’s chin, thumb wiping at the blood there surprisingly gently. Jughead grits his teeth and resists the urge to pull back. The touch isn’t unpleasant per se, he’s just so on edge, jittery and anxious and about ready to crawl out of his own skin.

“Saw you race off on your dad’s bike. He said that you were in trouble, that some creep was following you around or something? And to go after you. Grabbed my bike and saw that silver Sedan following you, so I followed the car. Missed a turn, though, and had to circle back. Almost thought I’d lost the two of you.” Sweet Pea lets his hand fall away from Jughead’s face, the one with the busted knuckles and Jughead can’t help but think that that must fucking hurt. But it’s like Sweet Pea doesn’t notice he’s the damage at all. “I should call FP. He’s probably got the entire gang out looking for you by now. Seemed really freaked earlier.”

“No!” Jughead blurts out and takes a step away from Sweet Pea, putting enough distance between the two of them to be out of easy reach. Jughead’s initial impression of Sweet Pea as an aggressive asshole with a chip on his shoulder and a dangerous sort of tunnel vision when it comes to challenged honor has morphed into something else over the last couple of weeks of slowly getting to know him. Into a clearer picture of someone who’s fiercely protective of his friends and family, who’s loyal and bullheaded and a little too quick with his temper sometimes but still has his heart in the right place when it counts.

What Jughead doesn’t trust though, is that Sweet Pea would choose Jughead’s side over his loyalty to Jughead’s dad, the Serpent king and Sweet Pea’s boss by all accounts. To Jughead’s surprise, though, Sweet Pea just frowns at him, arms crossing over his chest, scuffed helmet dangling from one hand loosely. Not making a move to reach for his phone, at least for now. “So, are you going to give me the whole story here or what?” Sweet Pea grumbles, fixing Jughead to the spot with his gaze.

“I really don’t think I want to.” Jughead murmurs, sounding small and a lot more pathetic than he’d like. He’s worked so fucking hard to get the teen Serpents to not only accept him, but to earn their respect as well and he’s still not entirely sure he’s managed. Especially when it comes to Sweet Pea. Telling Sweet Pea the truth is just going to shatter all of the progress he’s made. Jughead feels so ashamed. But he’s so fucking tired, too, and he’s hurting and he feels like crying even though the worst of it is over, but it still sits like a lump in his throat. Hard to swallow, hard to breathe around.

And the truth is, Sweet Pea and the others are going to find out anyway, aren’t they? Jughead thinks bitterly, acid burning at the back of his tongue. Because his dad _knows_ and the way Jughead knows _him_ , he’ll probably tell the entire fucking gang in a stupid attempt to make them help look out for Jughead. Never mind what that’s gong to do to Jughead’s fucking dignity.

“Come on, man. You’re going to have to give me something here.” Sweet Pea says carefully, his voice low but still so very clear in the otherwise quiet of the forest at night that’s wrapped itself around the two of them like a blanket. And that – that unexpected softness, that quiet but stern promise of comfort, is what finally has Jughead folding. The ache in his chest growing so pronounced it gets hard to hold himself upright, but Jughead steels himself against it. Pulls his shoulders back and lifts up his chin defiantly, making himself meet Sweet Pea’s gaze head on.

He intends to give Sweet Pea the same succinct, abbreviated version of events he gave Archie earlier. Rip the band-aid off and be done with it. But there’s something in the way Sweet Pea looks at him, calm and free of judgment, his eyes backlit by some small sparks of his earlier anger, but not directed at Jughead, he thinks, that makes Jughead take a deeper breath and change his mind at the last second.

So he tells Sweet Pea everything. How he ended up choosing to be homeless for a couple of months over the summer, how Archie and him had started to drift apart, how bad things had gotten after Archie’d got caught up in the clutches of a fucking child predator and kind of forgotten about Jughead for a while. How there’d been times when he’d barely made it through, how he’d slept under a bridge at the docks for a while, cold and alone and so fucking scared. How the guy who’d been kind enough to look out for him there had gotten beat to death right in front of him one night and Jughead had done nothing but sit quietly and fucking _watch_ because he’d been too much of a coward to do anything.

How it’d been a couple nights after that that David had found him wandering through the cold rain, lost and alone. How tired and hungry he’d been and how warm David’s car had been. How nice David had seemed at first and how stupid Jughead had been for believing a single word that came out of his mouth. How Jughead should have fucking _known_ better, but he hadn’t. Because he can be really fucking dumb sometimes, for a guy who likes to think of himself as being a smart person.

He tells Sweet Pea how he’d said no at first, his vocal chords starting to tremble as he speaks, the emotional strain too harsh to be endured in silence. Tells him how David had locked the car and refused to let him out, unwilling to accept Jughead’s refusal and how Jughead had been too fucking tired and used up to fight him, how he’d just given up and given in and let David guide his hand. How he’d just fucking let David do what he wanted, because it’d been easier than to keep fighting him and how awful Jughead had felt after. Used and like a piece of old trash, so fucking ashamed.

How he can still feel the invisible layer of filth on his skin some days, just from thinking about it. How he can still hear the sound of David’s panting breaths, his quiet moans, the heat of his mouth where it’d been pressed into the side of Jughead’s neck, if he concentrates hard enough. And now everyone is going to know and Jughead has no idea how he’s supposed to go back and face any of them after this.

Sweet Pea stays silent through it all, his eyes narrowing and burning brighter the longer Jughead speaks, hands balling into fists until Jughead imagines he can see the knuckles glinting white in the low light. But that’s it. No resentful comments, no disgust, no judgment. No _pity_. Not at the way Jughead’s hands shake while he gestures agitatedly, or at the wet tracks that make their way down Jughead’s cheeks once he gives up the fight of trying to hold back the tears. And, as horrible as putting all of that into words feels, it helps, too.

An invisible weight lifting off of his chest as he speaks, making him feel lighter than he has in a while, even with all of that fucking pain to go along with it, leaving him light-headed and dizzy. Once he’s done, he stands there with his breath held, waiting for Sweet Pea’s reaction. Scuffed up, bloody knuckles almost black in the barely there light, Sweet Pea huffs out an angry breath and washes his hand across his face, combs his fingers through his hair in one jerky motion.

“Fuck.” Sweet Pea presses out through clenched teeth, Jughead’s stomach pulling tight at the animosity in Sweet Pea’s voice, at how bright his anger burns between the two of them. “I should have killed that fucking _pedophile_ while I had the chance.”

Jughead recoils at the word. It hits him like a fist to the gut, the harshness of it. Sure, he’d only been fifteen at the time, isn’t that much older now, but he’d never thought about it terms quite that crass. Maybe he’d been afraid to use that word, even in his own thoughts. Funny, he thinks a little numbly, he’d never had trouble using it when it came to Archie and Mrs. Grundy.

His entire chest feels like an open wound, tender and raw like someone used a crowbar to pry his ribs open and then tried to scoop his heart out with a dull spoon or something and he wants to fucking stop crying, but he can’t seem to be able to now that he’s started. It’s like a dam has collapsed inside of him and now there’s no holding it back anymore, regardless of how fucking stupid he feels about it. He’s not making a sound, though, no sobbing, or wailing, his teeth clamped tightly around his lower lip, reopening the cut and making it bleed again sluggishly, though he barely even feels it. His head held high and his eyes glued to Sweet Pea’s, refusing to look away and be a coward about it.

“Aw, shit. Come here.” Sweet Pea mutters under his breath and the next thing Jughead knows he’s being _hugged_. Sweet Pea wrapping his big arms around him and holding him tight enough to be borderline uncomfortable, but somehow that’s exactly what Jughead needs right now. Sweet Pea is broad and solid, warm, and Jughead brings up his own arms to cling to Sweet Pea’s back like the stupid fucking child that he is and then he just kind of – falls apart. Trusting Sweet Pea to keep him on his feet as he lets go of everything he’s been holding balled up in his chest for way too long. He’s going to be so fucking embarrassed about it later, but right now, he doesn’t think he could stop himself, if he wanted to.

“None of this is your fault, you know that, right?” Sweet Pea says quietly, his voice startlingly soft for all of that rage that’d been there just moments ago. “You didn’t deserve any of it. So don’t be an idiot about it. No-one’s going to fucking judge you. And if there’s some asshole out there that does get ideas, I’ll just punch them until they wisen up.”

Jughead huffs out a watery laugh, one of Sweet Pea’s big hands coming up to rest on Jughead’s beanie. Jughead’s tears are soaking wet stains into Sweet Pea’s t-shirt, but he’s not pushing Jughead away, acting like he’s not noticing at all. Jughead not sure, if he’s ever been this grateful to anyone before. And the funny thing is, Sweet Pea’s kind of the last person Jughead would have expected any of this from. He’s going to have to do some serious re-evaluating after this, Jughead thinks. He hadn’t even thought that Sweet Pea _liked_ him up until now.

It takes a bit and Sweet Pea waits him out patiently, but eventually Jughead manages to get a grip on himself again and he slowly, reluctantly pulls back from Sweet Pea, ducking his head and wiping surreptitiously at sticky-wet face and puffy eyes. Sweet Pea’s arms fall away easily enough and he sighs when Jughead looks back up at him. Pulling a face that Jughead can tell is for his benefit, Sweet Pea grabs the hem of his t-shirt and holds it away from his chest, the wet spots darker than the rest of the material.

“I really fucking hope none of this is snot, Jones.” Sweet Pea grouses and the laugh that bubbles up out of Jughead’s chest at that is almost painful as raw as he still feels.

“You’re an asshole.” Jughead jabs back, but there’s no heat at all in his voice, it’s much too wobbly for that, and he doesn’t really mean it either.

“Yep.” Sweet Pea hums cheerfully, then jerks his head in the direction of the tunnel underneath the overpass, where Jughead’s dad’s bike is still parked. “Why don’t you get your stuff so that we can head back. Leave the bike, though. I don’t think you driving right now is a great idea. Someone can come pick it up in the morning. Everyone’s gonna be worried sick by now, specially your dad.”

Jughead sighs and nods his head assent. “Yeah, OK.” He’s so fucking tired, he doesn’t even know anymore. All he wants to do is go to sleep for a week or something. There’s just nothing left to fuel his usual attitude with. So he stumbles down to the underpass, grabs his bag and then makes his slow way back up to Sweet Pea.

Sweet Pea narrows his eyes at him, when Jughead reaches the side of the road, though. “No helmet or jacket?” Sweet Pea asks and Jughead just shakes his head. He’d been too intent on getting the Hell out of there to think of grabbing either. “Uhu. Well, you’re not riding on my bike like that. We get into an accident and you die, your dad is going to have my head on a stake.”

With that, Sweet Pea shoves his helmet against Jughead’s chest that twinges like a fresh bruise at the sudden pressure and Jughead scrambles to catch the helmet before it can fall again. Then stands there with his mouth falling open stupidly as Sweet Pea shrugs out of his leather jacket and holds that out for Jughead, too. Jughead just kind of stands there staring at him like an idiot, sniffling a little to combat his runny nose.

“Non negotiable, Jones.” Sweet Pea mutters and, a little wide-eyed, Jughead surrenders to his fate and takes the jacket from him. He’s too worn out to argue and, when he shrugs into the jacket, it’s still body warm and it smells faintly of Sweet Pea’s deodorant. It’s much too wide for him and the sleeves are too long, reaching almost down to his fingertips, but Jughead figures it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like looking like a total idiot in a jacket about three sizes too big for him is going to make things any worse, not with the state he’s in at the moment anyway. Jughead just zips it up and exchanges his beanie for the helmet under Sweet Pea’s watchful gaze.

Jughead doesn’t particularly _want_ to go back and have to face his dad, have to go through all of that fucking explaining again with him, but he figures he doesn’t have much of a choice. It’s not like Sweet Pea is going to let him run off again. And in hindsight, that whole thing might have been a _tad bit_ stupid anyway. So, when Sweet Pea climbs onto his bike and motions for Jughead to do the same, Jughead simply complies. He wraps his arms around Sweet Pea’s torso and holds on tightly.

The motor rumbles to life beneath them and a moment later, Sweet Pea is pulling back onto the road. As soon as they’ve built up a decent speed, the night blurring past them as they go, Jughead closes his eyes and lets his head cant forward until the helmet is leaning against Sweet Pea’s shoulder. Sweet pea doesn’t say anything or try to shrug him off, just lifts one of his hands and squeezes Jughead’s arm lightly before taking hold of the handle bar again. A silent offer of comfort that Jughead accepts gratefully. It’s such a small thing, but it somehow manages to make him feel a little less damaged, a little less broken and that’s worth a Hell of a lot.

~*~*~

As Sweet Pea takes the turn into Sunnyside Trailer Park everything inside of Jughead clenches back up with anxiety. If he’d had any other option at all, he’d have put this off until tomorrow, at least. Give himself some time to start feeling less awful and used up again, give himself some time to feel like he’s actually got a chance of getting through it. But this is his reality and he’s just going to have to face it, not matter how much he doesn’t want to.

To his surprise, the trailer park is mostly silent and dark. It’s late, sure, but somehow, given the situation, Jughead would have expected a bit more bustle. He’s not sure, whether or not that’s a good sign. Probably not, Jughead thinks, his stomach sinking precariously.

Sweet Pea pulls up in front of Jughead’s dad’s trailer and parks the bike there, waits for Jughead to climb off on slightly shaky legs until he himself does. Jughead can see that the light in the living room windows is on. Not the overhead light, but the solitary floor lamp, judging by the low quality of it. He furrows his brows into a frown while he takes off the helmet and hands it back to Sweet Pea, so that he can pull his beanie back on. A small comfort, but a necessary one. Especially, when he unzips Sweet Pea’s leather jacket and hands that over, too, the slightly chill night air rushing back in and all but shattering the small cocoon of warmth that had built up underneath.

He flinches a little, when Sweet Pea’s hand lands on his shoulder, but Sweet Pea doesn’t comment on it and Jughead is grateful for that much. “Let’s go.” Sweet Pea says, low in the ominous hush all around them, and starts to use his grip on Jughead’s shoulder to gently but firmly steer him towards the trailer’s front steps. Oh, Jughead thinks a little dumbly. He hadn’t expected Sweet Pea to come with, and he’s almost a little taken aback at the wave of gratitude that washes through him. He won’t be alone when he has to face his dad. He won’t be alone.

With that in mind, Jughead squares his shoulders against the precarious numbness that’s started to settle in his chest like a band-aid covering a contusion and takes the steps one at a time. The moment Jughead steps into the trailer, Sweet Pea right behind him, he can tell that something isn’t right. The smell of cheap bourbon hits him right away, thick and sharp in the air as if from a recent spill and then his eyes catch on his dad’s figure. Lying sideways on the couch in the dim light, an almost empty bottle of bottom shelf whiskey fallen over on the coffee table, lying in a fist-sized, amber-colored pool of liquid. An emergency stash Jughead must not have found on the sweep through he did before bringing his dad back home from jail.

His dad groans and lifts himself up onto his elbows, his eyes squinting at them blearily and his voice slurred, when he speaks. “Jughead? You came back?” As if it’s the last thing he’d expected and there’s so much agony laced through those words, his dad too drunk to filter out any of it, that it makes Jughead’s chest tighten and his throat close up until it feels like he can’t breathe at all anymore. His dad’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy and Jughead can tell that he’s been crying. The sight of him is so pathetic, so embarrassing, it cuts into Jughead like a knife.

‘I did that to him’, Jughead thinks as it really hits him. This is his fault. Because he was stupid and thoughtless and couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut. Heart fluttering in his chest like a panicked little bird, Jughead clears his throat until it feels like he’s unstuck it enough to be able to speak again. “Yeah.” Is all he can manage, a weak croak that doesn’t sound like himself at all. It’s weird how all it took to shatter his life, his dad’s life and set them right back to square one, to make all of that hard work mean nothing, was one stupid fucking mistake on his end.

His dad squints harder, eyes turning watery as he tries and fails to get up, too drunk to manage and it’s such a fucking mess. It’s everything Jughead never wanted to have to see again. Jughead tries to take a step forward, towards his dad, but Sweet Pea’s hand is back on his shoulder, strong and solid, stopping him before he can complete the motion.

“I think maybe it’s better we do this tomorrow.” Sweet Pea says, low enough that only Jughead can hear and Jughead shakes his head, wipes his hand across his eyes angrily, the same wetness there that he can see in his dad’s and maybe that makes both of them equally as pathetic.

“I have to take make sure he’s alright, I have to –“ Jughead starts, trying to shake off Sweet Pea’s grip, but Sweet Pea’s hand on him tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep him still.

“He can take care of himself. Done it often enough.” Sweet Pea presses out through clenched teeth, some of that anger from before seeping through again and Jughead’s breath hitches painfully, his eyes burning as he takes in his dad’s futile attempts at shaking his vertigo.

Sweet Pea turns Jughead back towards the door, starts to walk him through it and Jughead thinks he should be fighting this, that he should be trying to find a way to fix this, but he just – he can’t. He’s got nothing left to fight with. He feels like an empty vessel, drained dry and left with nothing but a hollowness that hurts when he moves and maybe he’s being fucking dramatic, but he really doesn’t give a shit anymore.

Sweet Pea’s trailer is close enough and Jughead lets himself be led across the lot and inside without protest. It’s tiny, just enough space for one person, two making it feel almost crowded, but it’s all kind of blurry, like the impressions are coming to Jughead through a fog and he really doesn’t care. He’s shrouded in a strange kind of numbness that feels like it will shatter, if he breaths too deeply and underneath is everything Jughead doesn’t want to think about or feel right now. The overhead light isn’t very bright, but it’s still enough to make Jughead’s eyes sting and he has to blink a couple of times to get used to it.

Sweet Pea leads him over to the bed pushed into a niche, walls on three of its four sides, and sits him down on its edge. Jughead stays there, musters just enough energy to kick off his boots and then sits still as he watches Sweet Pea putter about, intent on keeping his head as empty as he can. The space is surprisingly orderly and well kept. Sweet Pea walks over to his small kitchen area, opens a drawer and rummages around in it until he pulls out a bottle of disinfectant and some gauze.

He turns on the sink and holds his hand under the flow of the water, his face pulling into a grimace as the worst of the blood on his knuckles is washed away. They really do look pretty rough, Jughead can’t help but note. Once Sweet Pea is done, he turns the water back off and unscrews the disinfectant, wets a wadded up gauze pad with it and then dabs that at the wounds gingerly, breath hissing in through clenched teeth. The motion looks functional and practiced and Jughead wonder vaguely how often Sweet Pea’s gone through it already, if this is a regular thing for him. Watching Sweet Pea work feels strangely calming.

Apparently satisfied, Sweet Pea discards the now pink-stained gauze into the trash and wets a fresh pad, before re-screwing the disinfectant and putting his supplies away again. He moves over to where Jughead is sitting on the bed and crouches down in front of him, so that they’re almost at eye level. “Here, just –“ Sweet Pea murmurs, his eyes trained on Jughead’s mouth and one of his hands reaches to carefully hold Jughead’s chin still, his other hand coming up to dab at Jughead’s split lip with the wadded up gaze.

Jughead sucks in a startled breath, the sting of it too harshness and he wraps his fingers around Sweet Pea’s bicep to steady himself. Sweet Pea ignores him, just keeps working, careful but succinct, not lingering where he doesn’t have to and he finishes up quickly enough, for which Jughead is grateful. Jughead breathes a quiet sigh of relief when Sweet Pea pulls the gauze away from his face and moves to discard that, too. Jughead’s hand dropping away from Sweet Pea’s arm and back to the mattress.

With that, Sweet Pea opens one of his cupboards, pulls out a tall glass and fills it with water from the tab before returning to Jughead and handing it to him, taking a seat next to Jughead on the bed. Jughead takes a sip of the water even though he’s not really thirsty, even though he’s not really anything, just to be polite, then lowers the glass back down and turns a little so that he can meat Sweet Pea’s gaze.

“I’m really sorry.” Jughead blurts out, and it hurts, but it feels like something he needs to say so very badly. Maybe he should have said ‘thank you’ instead, maybe that would have been more appropriate, a small part of him thinks, but his need to take on responsibility for what happened wins out. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this mess. I was, I was being so stupid about it and I – I don’t know how to fix any of this.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Sweet Pea says, a frown pulling his features tight, but his eyes stay strangely soft. There’s been a lot of that today, despite everything, Jughead thinks, softness where he hadn’t expected to find any. Sweet Pea sighs and shakes his head a little. “You should get some sleep, man. You can stay the night, if you want. You look pretty rough.”

He should probably at least try to put up a token protest, for the sake of propriety, Jughead muses numbly, his eyes drifting to Sweet Pea’s bed, the rumpled covers and squashed up pillows, but he just can’t muster the fucking energy to. So he licks his dry lips, tongue prodding at the cut a little, and nods. Lets Sweet Pea take the glass from him again and set it down on the small, round dining table in the far corner of the trailer.

All Jughead wants to do is drop onto the bed and give himself over to unconsciousness, let the numbness carry him away for the next couple of hours, but he holds off for a little while longer. “What about you?” He asks and Sweet Pea gives him a look, one eyebrow raised.

“Due to a lack of other options, you’re going to have to live with sharing the bed, I’m afraid.” Sweet Pea shoots back dryly, then pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and holds it up for Jughead to see. “I’m going to send a couple texts first, though. Just to make sure that the others know you’re safe and don’t spend the rest of the night scouring the town like a band of violence prone, headless chickens.”

“Oh.” Right. Jughead’d almost forgotten about that. “Sure.”

“Just –“ Sweet Pea waves his phone around vaguely, indicating his bed. “Make yourself comfortable. Won’t take long.”

Jughead nods weakly and rubs the palm of his hand across his eyes, the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to chase away some of the leaden heaviness in his head, in his limbs. He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s floating in some kind of detached space, not quite a part of reality, more like somewhere adjacent to it. That there are a bunch of things he should be thinking about, he should be aware of, but he’s not and he’s too fucking tired to care. So he just reaches for the button and zipper on his jeans and fiddles with them until he gets them open and can slip out of them, leaving him in his boxers and socks. Managing at least that much for comfort’s sake. Sleeping in jeans can be a real bitch.

Then he crawls underneath the covers of Sweet Pea’s bed, huddles up near the wall to leave enough space for Sweet Pea, once he’s done. Grabs one of Sweet Pea’s pillows and lets his head drop onto it gracelessly, his eyes slipping shut almost as soon as he feels the slightly worn material against his cheek. Belatedly, Jughead remembers his beanie and he reaches up a heavy hand to pull it off of his head, freeing his hair and letting it tumble all over the place. He doesn’t discard it, though, keeps his fingers curled around the worn wool as he slips his hand back beneath the blanket instead. The covers are warm and soft and they smell faintly of Sweet Pea. It’s oddly soothing and Jughead pulls in a deep breath, the tightly furled knot in his chest unwinding just the smallest bit.

He’s already on his way to drifting off, numb and empty as he is, when he feels the mattress dip slightly near his head and he cracks his eyes open one more time. The overhead light has been turned off and Sweet Pea is sitting on the edge of the bed, his face illuminated only by the blueish glow form the screen of his phone. He’s in his boxer and a t-shirt and Jughead wonders confusedly how long he’s had his eyes closed, how much time he really lost in what didn’t feel like a couple of heartbeats, but must have been more by a good deal.

Jughead’s not sure how pathetic a picture he makes, but it has to be pretty bad judging by the way Sweet Pea looks at him now. The artificial light from his phone makes the lines on Sweet Pea’s face stand out more starkly and Jughead can’t help but think that he looks pretty tired, too. Jughead guesses it’s been kind of a shitty day for him, as well.

Closing his eyes against the pang of hurt that sparks in his chest, Jughead curls in on himself underneath the covers, curls towards Sweet Pea, towards the warmth he’s giving off, towards the solidity that tugs softly at Jughead. Weirdly longing for anything that makes him feel a little less lost. And Sweet Pea lets him. There’s a moment of hesitation, but then warm fingers curl around the back of Jughead’s neck softly and it kind of feels like every cell in Jughead’s body is realigning itself towards that touch. Towards the quiet comfort it offers.

“Shit sucks, I know, but you’re going to be fine.” Sweet Pea’s voice, low and sincere, floats through the quiet air of the space around them, of the tiny inside of his trailer that feels almost like a bubble cutting them off from the rest of the world and its consequences. Jughead’s first instinct is to argue, to tell Sweet Pea that there’s now way he’s going to be “fine”. Not with everything that’s been broken today, not with everything that’s still looming in the distance, that he’ll have to deal with when he wakes up tomorrow.

But somehow, the fact that _Sweet Pea_ believes it might just be enough to help him make it through the night in one piece.

~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> If you liked this, you would absolutely make an author's day/week/month, by leaving a little kudos or even a comment, if you feel like it. I hope you're all doing well! <3


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